Then
she departed in flame, leaving him and Death alone.
Alan awoke. Above the sun shone hotly, warming him back to life, but in
front was a thick wall of mist and rising beyond it in the distance he
saw the rugged swelling forms of mountains. Doubtless these had been
visible before, but the tall reeds through which they travelled had
hid the sight of them. He looked behind him and there in a heap lay the
Ogula around their chief, insensible or sleeping. He counted them and
found that two were gone, lost in the tempest, how or where no man ever
learned. He looked forward and saw a peculiar sight, for in the prow of
the drifting canoe stood Jeekie clad in the remains of his white robe
and wearing on his head the battered helmet and about his shoulders the
torn fragments of green mosquito net. While Alan was wondering strangely
why he had adopted this ceremonial garb, from out of the mist there came
a sound of singing, of wild and solemn singing. Jeekie seemed to listen
to it; then he lifted up his great musical voice and sang as though in
answer. What he sang Alan could not understand, but he recognized that
the language which he used was that of the Asiki people.
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